


Sick

by ewmyname



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Tamlen death, The Gauntlet, mention of vomit, oops sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewmyname/pseuds/ewmyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gauntlet had not been a friend to Elohris Mahariel, and she more than wished she’d never, ever became Elohris Mahariel, Grey Warden of the Fifth Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick

The Gauntlet had not been a friend to Elohris.

She had been bitter and angry when she’d answered The Guardian’s question, spitting out her regrets. Her companions, they knew very well what she was thinking and feeling, tried to lessen her guilt, but their words of comfort had only made her feel worse. 

_Tell me pilgrim, do you think you failed Tamlen?_

_Yes, I could have looked longer._

She swore that to herself she would stay strong, even when she saw the strong back of someone who was and wasn’t Tamlen. That strong back she’d spent so long staring at, the back she’d clawed at in fear and love, and the back that had protected her. 

Not Tamlen’s words were hollow and helpless, and it made her sick to her stomach. The cool metal of the amulet he passed to her made her head spin, and his words of forgiveness and regret made her vision blur.

No, it was far too soon. Tamlen’s body was barely cold, buried in a makeshift grave where they had last camped. She buried her heirloom amulet with him, hoping it would do for the weapon and tree she could not plant. The heirloom meant little to her now, as it was all but a reminder of a clan that she could no longer call home.

Elohris found herself begging the Not Tamlen to stay, wanting to hear his voice just a little longer, even if it was not truly him. Her voice went hoarse with her cries of pain and anguish, and all that kept her grounded was the warm touch of Wynne’s hand.

_We will not meet again._

Of course they wouldn’t. Elohris had killed him, and she had nightmares of his blood all over her hands and the flickering change of him as Tamlen and that ghoul. She was sick then, puking her guts up in the corner of the shemlen temple, with Wynne rubbing her back and Leliana singing that song she had sung at the camp. Oghren stayed back, claiming that he would be keeping a lookout but Elohris knew her display of emotion made him uncomfortable. And she knew the other two were also uncomfortable, but she couldn’t help it.

She had barely any time to grieve, her whole world had been uprooted and she’d been forced to carry on. Elohris’s voice cracked when she tried to say she was ok, but all it earned was her in a sobbing mess in Wynne’s soft chest. If it had been a better time she may have remarked Zevran was right, but she couldn’t think of anything to do but _cry_.

Leliana held her hand whenever she could in the Gauntlet, and that gave her some semblance of relief. Alistair had not come with them, her rock and hero had not been chosen to come for the journey, and now Elohris wanted him here. But she did not mind the cool hand of the other archer, but secretly hoped for the large and warm hands of Alistair, or Morrigan’s wise words that always calmed her down.

The Guardian thanked her for completing the tasks, like she really cared about some shemlen god. The Guardian had stared at her with knowing eyes and a smile, and she felt more naked than she already was. 

The Gauntlet had not been a friend to Elohris Mahariel, and she more than wished she’d never, ever became Elohris Mahariel, Grey Warden of the Fifth Blight.


End file.
